S'mores, Sex, And Rick's Cologne
by insanechayne
Summary: Murphy can't help but be struck by the new sheriff in town, Rick Grimes, but Connor's jealousy rises to the surface. Kind of an AU because no walkers or apocalypse. Set in Boston, not Georgia. Implied twincest, at the very least. Possible smut.
1. The Last Fight

**S'mores, Sex, And Rick's Cologne**

**Chapter 1: The Last Fight**

Murphy realized halfway through cooking dinner that he had an uncontrollable hankering for s'mores. He began rifling through the cupboards, hoping to find the items needed to make the treats, but there was nothing to be found.

"Connor?" Murphy called from the kitchen, taking a moment to stir a pan full of frying potatoes.

"Hmm?" Connor replied from his perch on their ratty couch, taking a drag off the cigarette between his fingers.

"Would ye mind runnin' to the store real quick? I wanna make some s'mores later."

"Why can't ye go git the damn things yerself if ye want 'em s'much?" Connor's words sounded harsh, but he wasn't trying to be mean to his brother; he was just lazy.

"I'm cookin' yer fuckin' dinner, asswipe. Can ye jus' do this one thing fer me?" Murphy huffed his frustration at his twin, stirring the potatoes hard enough to send one flying behind the stove.

"But this is a good episode a' Spongebob on right now. I don' wanna get all dressed up ta get ya a pack a' fuckin' marshmallows." Connor, picking up on Murphy's annoyed tone, rose his voice to match.

Murphy put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he blew out through his mouth. He was in no mood to deal with his brother being his usual lazy self today, and he really wanted some fucking s'mores.

"Fine, finish dinner yer fuckin' self then!" Murphy abruptly turned away from the stove and grabbed his black coat from where it dangled on the back of a chair. He grabbed his wallet, taking the time to count the bills inside to make sure he had enough money to get what he needed, then laced up his boots and made his way out the door, slamming it behind him.

Connor immediately regretted just letting his brother go like that. Murphy didn't ask him to do much in the first place, and there was no real reason he couldn't have just gone to the store and gotten the three fucking items necessary to make s'mores. But he didn't; instead he blew his twin off for some stupid cartoon show, and now Murphy was angry with him and dinner was burning.

Connor pushed himself off the couch and hurried to the kitchen, arriving just in time to move the potatoes around the frying pan before they stuck to the bottom.

There was no reason he couldn't do something nice for Murphy now, at least, as an apology for when he got back. Connor decided that he would finish dinner and keep it hot for his brother, then take the time to pick up the mess around their loft (which, if he were being honest, was 95% his mess in the first place). Then when Murph walked back through that door Connor would kiss him softly, apologize in his most genuine tone of voice, and hopefully they could spend the rest of the night cuddling or having make-up sex.

Murphy strolled up and down the aisles, throwing in cheap boxes of graham crackers and packs of chocolate in his basket, mumbling to himself along the way. His anger had ebbed slightly during his walk over there, though he was still pretty pissed at Connor. He regretted just storming out, though; he should have at least stuck around long enough to make sure dinner got cooked properly, since Connor was liable to burn the whole apartment down now that he was left in charge of it. Damn boy couldn't cook for shit.

He took a moment to go down the frozen section, and threw in two TV dinners that they both enjoyed, just in case dinner was charred beyond recognition by the time he got back.

All that was left now was to grab the marshmallows, pay for the items, then walk the few blocks back home. Murphy rounded the corner to where the marshmallows were, his hand latching onto the last bag of Jet Puffed Jumbo on the shelf, when another hand shot out and grabbed the other end of the bag at the exact same time.

Murphy rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at the stranger who had dared to touch his marshmallows. "Look, boyo, I'm havin' a shitty day. Would ye mind just lettin' me have this damn bag a' 'mallows? Ye could always take the smaller ones."

As he finished talking Murphy finally let his eyes light on who was standing before him, and the breath blew out of him in a woosh. The guy was gorgeous in the tell-tale navy blue of a cop's uniform, his clean-shaven face soft and sharp all at the same time, his eyes a perfect piercing ice blue. Murphy nearly dropped his end of the bag, sheer force of will the only thing keeping his fingers curled over the plastic.

"Well, y'see, the small ones are a bit of a problem for makin' s'mores. They burn too easily, and I can never position them properly on top of my chocolate." The guy grinned then, showing his straight white teeth, and Murphy could swear his knees had started to shake. That beautiful face lit up with that smile, making him even more handsome than Murph would have thought.

Murphy couldn't think of what to say now to get this guy to give up the marshmallows, but somehow he didn't think he'd mind turning them over to the dashing officer of the law who stood before him.

"Maybe we can come to a compromise." The guy was talking again, and Murphy struggled to concentrate. "Looks like we're both makin' s'mores, so how 'bout we share the bag?"

"What d'ye mean share?" Murphy raised one eyebrow.

"Well," The guy paused for a moment, a cloud of nervousness passing over his face, and brought his free hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there awkwardly. "Y'could come back to my place and we could pool our s'mores supplies and make 'em together."

Murphy was hit with the realization that this very attractive man was hitting on him, and had this been a cartoon his jaw might have dropped down to the floor. But he had to play it cool now; couldn't show this guy how awkward he really was yet.

"Sure, I'd love ta." Murphy put a smooth smile in place on his own face, letting the guy slip the bag of marshmallows into his own basket. "M'name's Murphy, by the way. Yours?"

"Name's Rick. Rick Grimes."


	2. It's All Over

**Chapter 2: It's All Over**

Connor paced the length of the loft anxiously, his hands clasped behind his back, his head down, as he mumbled to himself. It was dark outside, much darker than usual considering the only streetlight near their alley had burned out days ago and no one had come by to replace it.

How many hours had it been since Murphy stormed out? Six? Seven maybe? Either way, Murphy had been gone far too long for Connor to think he was getting drunk somewhere. Maybe he was just staying the night at Rocco's place, as a way to cool down. Rocco wouldn't mind having Murphy over, since the two were best friends and Murphy always had a pack of smokes with him; Rocco would no doubt have been sponging cigarettes off Murph the whole damn day if, in fact, Murphy had gone to spend the rest of the day with him.

Or maybe he was still at Doc's, complaining about Connor to the poor old man. Doc wouldn't have the heart to kick Murphy out, not when he was so obviously upset and didn't want to go home. Doc had some kind of extra room where Murphy could spend the night, anyway, didn't he? Murphy was probably passed out on the floor there right now, sleeping off his anger.

Connor glanced up at the clock, which read two in the morning in bright red numbers. His breath caught in his throat; what if Murphy had been hurt, and couldn't get home, or to some kind of help? He could be laying in some back alley right now, bleeding to death and in pain.

_I've gotta go after 'im. I'll look through every fuckin' alley if I have to. _Connor grabbed his jacket up from where it lay on his bed, dashing toward the door.

Connor pulled the door open frantically, and was met with a wide-eyed Murphy. Murphy was holding his keys, clearly in the motion of coming back home, and was quite obviously surprised to see Connor standing in the threshold; he'd been hoping against hope that his brother was already asleep and snoring by now.

"Murphy," Connor breathed out, a smile of pure relief brightening his face, and he immediately pulled Murphy into their apartment and his tight embrace. "So glad yer a'right, Murph."

Murphy stayed silent, but put his arms tentatively around his twin's waist, hugging him back gently.

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion, and he pulled away, his eyes roving over Murphy's face. "Yer wearin' cologne that aint' yours. Or mine, fer that matter. What's been goin' on, Murphy?"

Murphy shifted nervously from foot to foot, trying to avoid his brother's gaze. "Ain't nothin', Con. Was just out hangin' with a friend is all."

"What friend? This ain't Roc's cologne either, boyo." Connor scowled at his twin, growing progressively angrier every second that Murphy didn't just spit out the truth. Sure, Murphy was the more social of the two, but he didn't have any friends besides Rocco who would stay out with him until 2am.

"A new friend. Name's Rick." Murphy tried to brush past Connor, but Connor grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back, his body hitting the wall lightly.

"Rick?" Connor raised one eyebrow, his eyes burning fiercely into Murphy's own.

Murphy gulped roughly, wishing he'd just spent the night at Rick's like the sheriff had offered in the first place. "Met 'im at the store. We both grabbed the last bag o' mallows, so he invited me to come make s'mores wit' him at his place."

There, now it was all out in the open, and shit was gonna hit the fan. An emotion Murphy had rarely seen passed over Connor's face. It was how he had looked screaming Murphy's name when he was chained to that toilet; the anger and the fear in those eyes welled up now, and Murphy felt like someone had just punched him straight in the stomach.

"What else did ye do with this Rick character?" Connor released his grip on Murphy's shoulder, stepping back before he could do something stupid that he'd regret.

"Uh, well…" Murphy's voice rose an octave as he stammered, trying to think up a good explanation.

But Connor read the boy loud and clear. "Oh, I see how it is." He turned away from his brother, his eyes darkening, and walked to his bed, where he plopped facedown amongst the sheets and pillows.

"Connor, it ain't like that." Murphy followed after Connor, and reached out to put a hand on his twin's back.

Connor pulled away, more forcefully than necessary, and Murphy instantly recoiled.

"I knew ye were mad at me, Murph, an' I was wrong fer what I did to ya, but did ye really have ta go an' fuck some other guy? Did ye do it to get even?" Connor didn't look at Murphy, his words muffled from talking through his pillow.

Murphy didn't answer right away. If he were being honest, he didn't know why he'd slept with Rick. Rick had just been so nice to him, and had been so nice to look at. Rick was funny and sweet and Murphy immediately felt comfortable around him. Rick had even let Murphy top without a complaint, which was always a big problem with Connor.

"I don't know, Con. Just got caught up in tha heat a' the moment, I guess." Murphy looked away, feeling ashamed, and moved to sit on his own bed.

Connor didn't speak to Murphy for the rest of the night, and soon enough his snores were filling the loft. Murphy, however, didn't sleep at all.

Connor and Rick were polar opposites, the two sides of the same coin that Murphy had always wanted.

Connor was brash and rough and selfish, but his love for his brother ran deep through his soul; he'd take a bullet for Murphy without a second thought, would die for Murphy in an instant. Connor liked things to be his way, but Murphy liked being able to give him whatever he wanted and see that smile light up his face. Besides, they knew each other inside and out, because they'd been together their whole lives.

Rick, on the other hand, was gentle and caring and willing to let Murphy be in control. He had a sense of humor that was rare to find, and he'd kept Murphy laughing the whole night through; Murph had nearly been in tears or pissing his pants several times from some of the jokes Rick told. Rick wanted to know everything about Murphy, wanted to explore every part of Murphy, but that didn't mean he'd want anything serious, or if they did get serious that he would protect Murphy like Connor would.

Murphy lay in bed that night, tossing and turning like a man lost at sea, and his thoughts all led to one conclusion: no matter who he chose someone would get hurt, and that someone could end up being him.


	3. My Old Friends Become Exes Again

**Chapter 3: My Old Friends Become Exes Again**

Connor and Murphy barely spoke in the days that passed. They ate and slept and went on hits in awkward silence, and Murphy spent more nights than not out with Rick, which just worked to make Connor more jealous and angry.

Far too many times Connor had come home from the meat-packing plant without Murphy by his side. The loft was empty not just of another's presence, but also of the light that Murphy seemed to always carry with him, deep inside of his soul. If Connor were being honest with himself he missed that brightness more than anything, and longed for his brother to grace him with that perfect smile once again. Connor didn't give voice to these wishes around Murphy, though, and so Murphy remained tight-lipped.

On Friday Connor sat at their shabby dining room table, a cigarette between his fingers, an open beer resting beside his elbow, and a book in his hands. Connor didn't like reading all the much (that was more Murphy's thing), but he needed a new way to pass the time lately, and their cruddy television set didn't offer much in the way of entertainment anymore.

"What're ya readin', Con?" Murphy asked, almost absentmindedly, as he sat across the table from his brother, cleaning one of their many handguns. It was the most amount of words he'd said to Connor in a little under a week.

"S'called _Ender's Game._ One a' the boys at the plant lemme borrow it fer a while; said it was pretty good." Connor flipped a page, trying hard to keep the waver out of his voice; they were finally having a real conversation, neither one angry at the other for anything.

"What's it about?" Murphy shoved the magazine back into the bottom of the gun and set it aside, taking a moment to light up his own cigarette. He glanced at Connor's face, hidden behind the dark cover of the paperback in his hands, then quickly looked back to the table for fear that Connor would catch him staring.

Connor didn't drop the book as he answered, too afraid that if he looked at Murphy once he would never be able to look away again. "Some kids gotta go inta space an' defeat some aliens to save the world, r' somethin' like that. Guess this Ender kid's like a genius or somethin', n' he commands 'em all in battle." Connor shrugged, turning another page, pretending his brother's questions hadn't affected his reading in anyway, though that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Murphy nodded to himself, knowing that Connor wouldn't see, nor would he care about Murph's response. He smoked his cigarette down to the filter before snuffing it out in the ashtray that sat between them, then rose from the chair. He moved to his bed so that he could lace up his boots, and swept his coat over his shoulders, buttoning the front for once instead of letting it hang loose at his sides.

"Where ya goin', Murph?" Connor kept his voice even, so that it would seem like he didn't really care about the answer.

"Rick n' I 'ave a date t'night." Murphy answered the question nonchalantly, as if he had just said he were going out for another pack of smokes, or a drink with Rocco.

Connor kept the book in front of his face, though the words all blurred together. His blood boiled, the heat rising into his cheeks and turning them a bright pink color, and he had to force himself to relax his fingers so that he wouldn't crush the cigarette between them and accidentally burn himself. Here he thought they were making such progress, what with Murphy actually speaking to him like a normal person, but they were right back to square one again. Maybe he just shouldn't have asked where Murphy was going; he wouldn't have had to hear the awful truth if he'd just kept his own mouth shut about things.

Murphy stood by his bed, all dressed up and ready to go, staring at Connor's back and shoulders. _Say somethin', Con. Say anythin' at all. Please. _He begged internally, but Connor stayed silent, the tautness of his muscles the only hint that anything was wrong. Murphy wanted to reach out, put his hands on those shoulders, and massage the tension away, tell Connor he still loved him more than he had the words to say. Murphy wanted to kiss Connor's neck, wrap his arms around Connor's chest, and not let go until everything was settled and he was forgiven. But he stayed where he was, still as a statue, watching Connor flip the pages of his book and not give a damn where he was going, or with who he was spending the night.

"When do ye have to leave, Murph?" Connor's voice came out in little more than a whisper, and Murphy knew he was hurting deep inside, though he was trying like hell not to show it.

"I've gotta go now, actually." Murphy shuffled from foot to foot, glancing over at the clock. He didn't want to leave, not when he knew Connor was upset, but he would be late if he didn't hustle on out of there right that minute; Connor wasn't likely to say anything to Murphy, anyway, not now that he was going off to be with Rick.

"Are ye comin' back t'night, r' are ye spendin' the night there?" Connor refused to speak Rick's name, not really wanting to believe that this fucker who had stolen his twin away was actually real.

Another page turned, minutes passing in uncomfortable silence, and then another, and finally Murphy spoke up. "M'stayin' there t'night. I'll be back in the mornin', 'r afternoon, maybe."

Connor saw red again, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't want Murphy to leave, not then and not ever. He wanted Murphy to spend the night with him again, like they used to, just cuddling on the couch and watching some shitty movie, or playing UNO, or even sitting up on the roof together blowing through beers and another pack of cigarette while they stared up at the night sky. Simply put, Connor wanted Murphy back.

"Ave a nice time, then." Connor struggled with his voice, making sure it didn't quiver and let on that he was about to cry.

Then there was a gentle touch on his shoulder, so light he might not even have noticed it was there had it not lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Murphy was touching him; Murphy's fingers were at his shoulder, squeezing lightly, and then they were gone, the sound of boots thudding in the direction of the door.

Murphy stopped at the door and turned back to look at his brother, hoping against hope that Connor would realize that squeeze was meant to be an apology. "Thank ye." And then he was gone, slipping out into the night like a ghost.

Connor didn't bother going back to re-read the pages he'd skipped.


	4. A Little Less Talk And A Lot More Action

**Chapter 4: A Little Less Talk And A Lot More Action**

Murphy and Rick wound up in a back booth of some hole-in-the-wall style diner, laughing over Cokes and eating cheeseburgers and fries. Rick had wanted to take Murphy somewhere nice, somewhere that actually had a name on a sign above the door, but Murphy felt odd going on a date with a man in the first place, and decided he would feel more comfortable being in a place where no one knew his name. Rick was more than happy to oblige, taking pleasure in the soft smiles Murphy gifted him with as they walked and talked and ate.

"S'what brings ye to Boston, Sheriff Grimes?" Murphy smirked, shoving fries into his mouth as soon as he finished his question.

Rick blushed at the formal nickname Murphy had adopted; it sometimes made him feel like he was taking a perp downtown for questioning, though truth be told he wouldn't mind giving Murphy a taste of the long arm of the law. "Well, I lived in the same small town my whole life, King County, and when things went belly-up with my ex I decided I needed a change a' scenery. I always did wanna see the big city lights."

"What was yer ex like, if ye don't mind me askin'?" Murphy looked up at Rick through his long lashes, his blue eyes kind and sympathetic; Rick nearly chocked on his soda at that look Murph was giving him.

"Daryl Dixon, his name was. He was nice n' all. A bit rough-and-tumble, though I got used to that after a while. He had a gentle spirit under the tough exterior, but he had a temper hotter than the sun at times. We parted ways because he fell for someone else. A woman by the name of Carol. I never met her, but he said nothin' but nice things 'bout her. I knew he was bisexual, and I never had a problem with that, but I thought I was the only one for him, you know?" Rick's eyes had slipped away from Murphy's as he talked, trailing down to his hands resting on the tabletop.

Rick didn't want to be rehashing the past, not with the gorgeous new guy he was lucky enough to be courting, but once he started talking about Daryl he couldn't seem to stop, like the floodgates to his memories and his mouth had collapsed, everything rushing free.

And he really had loved Daryl; that much was true. But he wanted nothing more now than to just get over that man, to live in the present moment and love someone new, and he wanted that someone new to be Murphy, though he wouldn't dare breech the subject yet.

Murphy nodded solemnly as he listened to Rick's tale, then deftly reached across the table and clasped the sheriff's hand in his own, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Rick glanced up at Murphy, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and finally let it break loose. Murphy couldn't help but grin back at the way Rick's face lit up with that smile.

They spent the rest of the meal making jokes and telling stupid stories from work; they'd had enough heaviness for one night.

Murphy's lips trailed along Rick's jawline, raising the skin there into perfect sensitivity. He let his tongue slide over Rick's throat, stopping at the pulse point and nibbling at the flesh there gently. Rick groaned low in his throat, tired of Murphy's teasing already, but allowed the man to continue.

Murphy's nimble fingers made quick work of unbuttoning Rick's shirt, easily pushing it from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, his lips brushing over the sheriff's collarbone, kissing a pathway of heat on the man's skin.

They had wasted no time shoving each other against the walls as soon as they burst through Rick's apartment door, and Murphy was the one pushing Rick's back to the solid surface now as he explored every inch of the sheriff's currently exposed skin.

Rick fisted his fingers into Murphy's soft hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers as he moved to grip the back of the other man's neck. Rick brought Murphy's face up to his for a rough and passionate kiss, nipping at Murph's bottom lip playfully. Murphy let the man tug his lip for a moment before pulling back and instantly sliding his tongue into Rick's mouth. Rick welcomed Murphy's tongue eagerly, sucking it on it lightly before wrestling it down with his own tongue, and Murphy moaned into the sheriff's mouth, his erection pressing through his jeans into Rick's thigh.

Rick pulled away to catch his breath, Murphy's mouth instantly latching onto his neck and nibbling it once more. "You wanna top tonight?" He panted, reflexively tilting his head so that Murphy would have better access to his throat.

"God, yes. Connor never really let me do that before." Murphy, in the heat of the moment, let Connor's name slip through his clenched teeth without even a second thought.

Rick paused a moment to ask, "Who's Connor?"

Murphy's eyes shot open wide, suddenly realizing his mistake. He couldn't tell Rick that Connor was his brother; that would certainly ruin whatever they had going on right now. So he said the only plausible thing he could think of, the only thing that could be easily accepted and blown off.

"He's my ex."


	5. Oh Memories, Where'd You Go

**Chapter 5: Oh Memories, Where'd You Go**

Connor lay in his bed, curled up under the blankets, unable to sleep. It wasn't horribly cold that night, but there was still a chill, either in the air or in his soul, and his tattered blanket didn't do much to fight it. He wished Murphy were there beside him. Murphy's body was always warm, the skin always hot against his own, and his smile made heat flow through Connor's veins. But Murphy was off giving that warmth to someone else, and Connor was left alone to shiver.

Connor couldn't remember a time when he'd been alone at night this way, or alone in life with his brother's heart somewhere else. Even as children they'd been invited to parties or sleepovers together, because everyone knew that one would never go anywhere without the other. That's probably why they never did very well with girls, either.

With nothing else to focus on his mind wandered, travelling the twisted pathways of Memory Lane.

He and Murphy were six years old, huddling under the blankets of the couch cushion fort they'd made, giggling over comic books. They pretended to be mighty hunters hiding from a wild beast; they pretended to be thieves hiding out from the law; most of all they pretended to just be Connor and Murphy, fending for themselves and braving the trials of the grown-up world. Murphy fell asleep before he did, probably because he'd brought a glass of warm milk into the fort with him, whereas Connor just brought in a juice box, and Connor felt compelled to stay up as long as possible. He had to watch over Murphy, had to protect Murphy, had to make sure Murphy stayed healthy and happy and perfect. At six years old Connor held no knowledge of love, of the way it burns through one's soul and fills the heart, of the way it can put one together and tear them apart all at the same time, but he did know that he loved Murphy unconditionally. In his childlike terms of endearment, this love was innocent, and when he kissed Murphy's forehead as he slept under the blankets and cushions he thought it should always be this way, him keeping watch over his angelic little brother. And to him, that's the only thing that felt truly right and just in the world, even so many years later.

The twins were ten years old, and it was summertime. The air was thick with humidity, their clothes always damp with their sweat, and they were learning how to ride bicycles. Connor learned much faster; he always did have an easier time with things like that. Murphy was slower, and he fell a lot. He still had training wheels on the back by the time Connor was speeding down the streets, and so Connor decided to help his brother learn. Connor would leave his bike in the grass near their house and spend hours trying to help Murphy get the hang of balancing himself on the bike, how to properly position himself, how to brake smoothly, and how to ride without those training wheels on the back. It took several weeks, and many more scraped body parts, but Connor was finally able to unhook the training wheels and give Murphy that last encouraging push down the sidewalk, and Murphy rode down the street and back without any issues, and a wide smile on his face.

They were thirteen, screwing around in the woods behind their house. They never ventured too far out, for fear they'd get lost, but they made sure it was far enough that someone would have to actually come looking to find them. They would sit under the shade of the various trees, talking in hushed tones about whatever young boys speak of, and watch the insects dance through the air and the wildlife continue on around them. On this particular day the sun was filtering through the leaves and lighting on Murphy's face just enough to make him look like an earthbound angel. Connor swallowed around the lump in his throat, thinking how beautiful Murphy looked, and Murph hadn't noticed a thing. Connor leaned in, pressing his lips to Murphy's full cheek, and Murphy turned to face him, raising one eyebrow in confusion. Connor's eyes spoke for him, showing how much he adored his brother, how he would never love anyone but him. Murphy's eyes suddenly brightened, and Connor knew that Murphy felt the same way, and so Connor worked up the courage to lean in again and kiss Murphy flush on the lips. It was their first kiss, but it wasn't their last.

At sixteen their Ma bought them their first car. It was a used car, and half the time it barely worked, since she'd gotten it from one of the neighbors, but the boys loved it all the same. It was in this car that they made love for the first time. They'd both gone to a friend and asked for a spare condom, lying about how they met some girl who wanted them, and both friends had smirked, winked, and handed them one of the little foil packages. The twins had decided that they were ready to step up their relationship, even if they still felt a bit odd about being related and all, and they parked out on one of the many deserted highways, under the moon and the stars. They climbed into the backseat, both of them tentatively shedding their clothes and looking at each other nervously. They'd both seen each other naked pretty much every day of their lives, but this time was different; this time they looked at each other's bodies with intention to kiss, to touch, to love, and to use, and it made them feel awkward. Murphy volunteered to bottom first, always willing to please his brother, and after he came Connor did the same for Murphy. That first time was rough, a tad bit painful, and extremely uncomfortable in the cramped backseat of that car, but neither one suggested not continuing their little affair.

Twenty years old, celebrating their birthday on a boat heading to America, and Murphy was throwing up over the side due to seasickness. Connor put a hand on his back, patting and rubbing in turn, trying to comfort his brother, and when one of the other guys on board made fun of Murphy and called him a pansy Connor punched him so hard his jaw and nose broke with just the one hit. After that the two were left alone by everyone on board, and no one said anything else about Murphy's weak stomach.

They were twenty-three when they found Doc's pub, and therein met Rocco, and all the other boys they considered friends. They'd been welcomed quite warmly by the others in the bar, and the insults went flying in all directions with half-hearted meaning. It was the closest they'd come to home in three years.

Connor's mind flipped through the memories like a Rolodex, stopping here and there on more fond moments the two shared. The time they played UNO for forty-five minutes, each one hoping to win and be a top that night, and in the end Connor was victorious. The Saturday they flipped that stupid quarter over and over again, daring each other to do stupid things, until finally Murphy had had enough and had taken the game for a sexual turn.

The rest of the memories weren't all about sex, either. He could still clearly remember the fall festival they went to when they were kids, and Murphy had gotten lost in the haunted house, and Connor had to go and rescue him. He played through the time they both got their first pets, fish, and Murphy had named it after Connor because he thought his fish was as beautiful as his brother's eyes. So many moments that he treasured above all else, and now they all felt wrong to think about when Murphy wasn't in the bed beside him, or under the sheets with him.

Maybe Murphy had grown tired of Connor's companionship. Maybe he didn't want to feel guilty for being in love with his brother anymore. Connor could respect that, he supposed, though his feelings for Murphy would never change; he just wished that Murphy would come right out and say that, rather than running around with some other guy and making him jealous. If Connor knew that that's how Murph felt then he'd gladly back off, because he didn't want to make his twin unhappy.

Connor decided that he would broach the subject the next day, after Murphy came back home from his night at Rick's. They would settle this matter, hopefully for good.


	6. Talk To Me

**Chapter 6: Talk To Me**

Murphy slipped in the door the next morning around nine, a bag of donuts and a holder with two large cups of coffee clutched in his hands like peace offerings. The image of Connor sitting at the table, stiff-backed and tense, his book clenched between his white-knuckled fingers filled his mind every time he closed his eyes, the sound of Connor's voice wracked with pain and anguish filling his ears at every silent interval, and he knew he had to try to do something, anything, to try and make his twin feel better.

Connor appeared to be sleeping still, curled into a ball on his mattress under the blankets, his back to the doorway. Murphy quietly placed the breakfast on the table and crept over to his brother's bed. Connor's face was smooth in his slumber, his eyes closed against all the hate, no unhappy frown pulling his mouth down at the corners, no ridges creasing his forehead in anxiety. Murphy wished Connor could always look this way, though perhaps with a smile lighting his features every so often; Connor was always so beautiful when he smiled, and frankly Murphy missed that.

But to know that Connor was more at ease in dreams, where he didn't have to deal with any of Murphy's bullshit, stabbed deep to his heart, and he longed to make his brother happy once more. The only problem now was that he didn't know how to do that anymore; lately everything he did was wrong, and he didn't know how to fix that.

Murphy touched at the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, feeling for his lighter in the other, and climbed through one of the windows to sit on the fire escape outside. He sat there, in the brisk morning air, inhaling and exhaling smoke, and tried not to think about what he was doing to Connor. He had a vague notion to go back inside and wake Connor up with a blowjob, see if he could fix things that way, but squashed that idea immediately; he would feel weird doing that now, considering he was dating Rick, and it would probably create more problems with Connor than it would patch up.

Meanwhile, Connor lay in bed, pretending to sleep. He had heard Murphy come in, had heard him set something down and come stand over him for a moment; he swore he could feel Murphy's eyes on his face, and it took everything within him not to look up at his brother with pleasing eyes and beg for him to come back to whatever they had before Rick wandered along. He didn't particularly want to have to face their issues so early in the morning, however, and so he stayed still, keeping his face clear of emotion until he heard Murphy go out onto the fire escape.

Connor wanted to get up and go join his brother for a smoke, maybe put his arm around Murphy's shoulders, a silent way to say "we're both wrong, but we can put that behind us, because we love each other", but he simply got up and went to the table to see what Murphy had brought home.

Connor pulled the large white bag toward him and cautiously opened it up. Inside were seven powdered jelly donuts, and six chocolate bar donuts. Murphy had brought Connor his favorite donuts, and given him the extra in the baker's dozen, no less. Just seeing the two types of donuts tugged at Connor's heart strings, because it showed just how different they were, but also how similar.

One the one hand it showed the differences in their taste. Connor preferred the jelly donuts, because the fruit filling took away the denseness of the donut itself, and the powdered sugar gave it a somewhat elegant feeling, at least to him. Murphy preferred anything chocolatey, and enjoyed the rich flavor it brought out in the donut. On the other hand it showed that they both liked donuts and could both eat at least six in one sitting, even though they'd probably get sick afterwards.

"Good morning," Murphy's voice sounded softly from the area by the window, and Connor's head snapped up, their eyes locking.

Connor averted his eyes first, looking back down at the donuts. "Mornin'. Thanks fer bringin' breakfast."

Murphy nodded, unsure of what to say now, and went to join his brother at the table. Connor plucked a donut from the bag and handed it over to Murphy, who took his own before sitting across from his twin.

"Sleep well?" Murphy asked, figuring small talk was about as good as their conversation was going to get.

Connor shrugged, biting into his donut and getting powder around his lips. "Slept a'right, I guess. Had better nights, though." He raised his eyes to Murphy's as he said this, and then Murphy was the one to look away; Connor's meaning wasn't missed.

The two chewed in silence for a while, their eyes firmly affixed to the table or their donuts or their hands, but pointedly staying off of each other.

Finally, Connor broke the silence. "I think we need ta talk 'bout some stuff, Muprh."

Murphy didn't say anything, simply waited for Connor to continue. It was best to let Connor get things off his chest in his own time.

"I have ta ask ye, Murph, do ye not love me anymore? I mean, the way ye did before ye met Rick." Connor tried to meet Murphy's eyes, but Murphy continued to look away from him.

"Of course not, Conn. I love ye the same as I always have."

"Are ye sure? 'Cause I don't mind backin' off if yer feelin' weird 'bout how we been carryin' on fer so long. Ye just gotta tell me that ye don't want to… you know, with yer brother no more, an' I'll leave ye alone."

Murphy locked eyes with Connor now, blue on blue, one soul searching the other for answers and finding none. What he saw in Connor's eyes was more pain, was something broken in need of fixing, but Murphy didn't have the means to do so. Connor's eyes were nearly begging for some kind of resolution.

Murphy understood now that Connor really did want nothing more than his twin's happiness, because why would he have asked otherwise? And Murphy's heart broke under this realization, because he had always thought that Connor was just being selfish to make himself happy. Connor could get under Murphy's skin sometimes, but the love had always been there, and as of late Murphy had simply refused to see it. Maybe Murphy didn't want to see it. Maybe Murphy really didn't want to be with Connor anymore.

Was it selfish for Murphy to want more out of a relationship? Rick was caring, was gentle, was compassionate, and made Murphy feel like an equal rather than an object. Connor didn't treat Murphy like he was anything special, but maybe that was just because they'd been together all their lives. It's hard to think of new ways to show someone you love them to the ends of the earth and back when you were born beside them, when you grew up beside them, when you stayed beside them your entire life and continued to do so. But that didn't mean that Connor couldn't at least say something like "just wanted ye to know I love ye, Murph" sometimes. Maybe if Connor had said that even once in the past year or so Murphy wouldn't have strayed away.

But looking in Connor's eyes now, Murphy saw that Connor really did love him, that Connor really did think he was something special, perhaps even the greatest thing in the world. Murphy was no longer sure he could say the same about Connor. He loved Connor still, of course he did, but the "in love" feeling wasn't quite there anymore. And, God, how his soul was being torn apart just to think that.

Any answer Murphy could possibly come up with would only result in either him or Connor getting hurt, getting ripped to shreds by these horrible emotions they both had. So he opted not to say anything at all, and just stared at Connor, praying that Connor would see everything he couldn't speak.

_Tell me ye love me, Conn. Fight for me. Show me ye care 'bout me. Then maybe I could leave Rick fer good and just be with ye again, like the old times. Because I miss that, too, Connor. Miss how we felt fer each other, how we ignored the taboos and just __**were**__, and how we always knew we had been born with two halves of the same soul and were the only ones right for each other. I don't want Rick anymore, Connor, I want __**you, **__but you have to show me ye want me, too. _Murphy silently begged his twin, trying to get him to say something, anything, along those lines, because if Connor did Murphy would run into his arms, kiss him with as much love and tenderness as he could muster, and never leave him again.

But Connor didn't say anything, didn't speak one single syllable, just let his eyes drop to his hands resting on the table while tears fell onto the backs of them, and pretended that he could hide his feelings from Murphy.

Of course Murphy didn't want him anymore. Of course Murphy was sick of him. He'd been an asshole to Murphy more times than he could count, and Murphy deserved better. Maybe Murphy was better off with Rick, then; apparently this Rick guy treated Murphy right, and made him happy, and that's really all Connor wanted anymore, for Murphy to be happy. He just wished he could be the one to make him happy.

Without a word, Connor rose from the table, scooping up his own pack of cigarettes and lighter, and made his way onto the fire escape; his body language told Murphy that it wasn't an invitation to follow.

Murphy let his head fall into his hands, his fingers curling into his hair and pulling at the strands, and then he let himself cry, his silent sobs wracking through his body like an earthquake. Connor hadn't fought for him; Connor hadn't done anything at all. Maybe now it was Connor who didn't want him anymore. Maybe that's what he'd been trying to get at by asking Murphy that stupid question. Well, if he didn't want Murphy anymore that was fine, because Murphy had Rick now, and Rick did want him.

Murphy wiped his eyes with his palms, and then grabbed his coat, bundling himself into it once more. Rick had extended an invitation to him to come back any time he wanted, and that's what he was going to do now. Murphy was going to go spend the day with someone who enjoyed his company.


	7. Oh How The Mighty Fall In Love

**Chapter 7: Oh How The Mighty Fall In Love**

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." Rick called out to whoever was frantically banging on the front door of his apartment at ten in the morning. He'd been in the back bedroom trying to get a couple hours rest before his afternoon shift started, but his hopes of getting any sleep were now dashed.

He looked through the peephole to see a somewhat disheveled looking Murphy wiping at his eyes with one hand as his other rose to knock again. Rick opened the door before Murphy had a chance to bring his knuckles down on it again, and immediately pulled the man inside with him, putting his hands on Murphy's shoulders.

"What happened? Is everything alright?" Rick asked, his eyes full of concern for the man who stood before him, looking a lot like a lost little boy.

Murphy nodded and sniffled, trying to wipe his eyes again; he couldn't meet Rick's eyes, wouldn't have been able to see Rick through the haze of his tears in the first place, and so he kept his stare fixedly pointed in the general area of Rick's heart instead. "M'fine. Just got into a fight with Connor's all."

"Connor, like your ex?" Rick raised an eyebrow as he released his grip on Murphy's shoulders.

Murphy's breath hitched in his throat, giving him a moment's reprieve to think of a suitable answer to this question. He couldn't tell Rick that Connor was his twin brother; that certainly wouldn't fly well with the sheriff, and Rick would dump him in half a heartbeat. But he didn't know of a good enough story to tell to explain why he was fighting with Connor, who was supposed to be out of his life as his ex, either.

"Well, he's m'roommate, too. Times'r tough, ya know? S'only temporary, til one of us gets 'nough money t'move out." Murphy let this lie slip through his lips as easily as if it were the truth, though he felt guilty about it immediately after. It was a shitty story, first of all, and Rick might see right through him, if he could get past all the hysterics. Second of all Connor _was _his twin brother, not just some ex or roommate, and brushing Connor off like that made the whole ordeal just that much worse, because some part of him could feel how hurt his brother would be if he heard these words.

Rick nodded for a moment, processing what Murphy had just said. He could understand the money situation; after all, his apartment wasn't the nicest one in Boston, and he was still trying to learn how to get by on a different salary. But that didn't mean that Murphy should suffer just because he wasn't able to scrounge up enough savings to go somewhere else.

And then an idea occurred to him: Murphy could move in with him. They'd already learned that Rick's bed could easily fit the two of them, and it would be nice having another person around the house to come home to. Rick didn't think he could imagine anything better than waking up to Murphy's sunshine smile every morning, and seeing the light reflecting in those perfect blue seas. And then Rick came to the realization that this was it, he was in love with Murphy, that Murphy was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, regardless of where the wind blew them.

"Murphy, would you, maybe, want to move in with me?" Rick asked softly, his voice just slightly above a whisper, his eyes desperately searching for Murphy's own, though the other man still kept them pointed at his chest.

Murphy's eyes went wide, his tears abruptly drying, the shock written across his face.

"I mean, I know we haven't known each other all that long, but I wouldn't mind having you around all the time." Rick gave Murphy a sidelong smirk, his face not betraying the hurricane of emotions battering his ribcage.

Murphy tried to absorb the brevity of the question that had just been asked of him, but he had no answer at that moment. He was torn in his decision, and didn't know what he wanted to do.

On the one hand he could move in with Rick, move right out of Connor's life, except for work at the meat-packing plant and, if he was lucky, a few extra hits. He could wake up wrapped in Rick's arms, feeling Rick's lips against the back of his neck and Rick's stubble tickling his shoulder blades, and remember what it was like to think that the sun might have been inside that other person's soul; he could wake up to the warmth of someone's love, could bask in its glow throughout the day, and curl up next to it at night. He could make love to the moon and the stars as they pushed themselves into and out of Rick's very being, bathing him in their gentle light, and he could remember what it felt like to know that he meant something to someone else, that he was important to someone in some way that he had never been before. Connor didn't want him anyway, right? Connor had grown tired of his bullshit, and Murphy would be doing him a favor by leaving him.

On the other hand he could stay with Connor, who he loved more than life itself. Maybe it was stupid, especially after all this time, to still be in love with someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with him, but Murphy still wanted to believe that they held the same soul between their two bodies, that the same blood pulsed through their veins, and that they weren't two separate beings, but rather two halves of the same whole. Regardless of how Connor felt, this was what Murphy knew to be true, and it would be unbearably difficult to try and sever himself in such a way.

Connor was still the center of Murphy's universe, the sun to his entire solar system, and Rick was merely a moon orbiting him and hoping for a chance at a closer gravitational pull. Connor was every star twinkling in Murphy's vast, empty heart, and Rick was just a space shuttle trying to learn more about the world. But he didn't think there was a way to make Connor see that anymore.

So he would pull Rick closer, try to bury his love and longing for his twin inside of Rick, give him the love that he deserved. And maybe he could truly be happy that way, even without Connor beside him. Maybe Murphy could be content with Rick in a way that he never had been with Connor.

"A'right, Rick. I'll move in with ye." Murphy's lips curved into a slight smile, his eyes finally meeting Rick's.

And then Rick was the one to start crying, though he smiled while he did so. He instantly wrapped Murphy in his arms, circling the man in his gentle embrace, and pulled him closer, his lips finding Murphy's.

Rick was soft at first, adoring, showing how much he truly appreciated Murphy's decision, and Murphy responded accordingly, their mouths moving in tandem. And then Murphy was swept off the ground and into Rick's strong arms, being carried into the bedroom. Murphy had never been carried anywhere in his life, except by his Ma when he was younger; Lord knows Connor probably wouldn't be able to pick him up, considering they were roughly the same size and weight. Just one more thing that proved that Rick was the better choice.

Rick laid Murphy down on the mattress amongst the sea of wrinkled bed sheets and pillows, his lips trailing down the curve of Murphy's throat as he pushed up his shirt. Murphy could feel Rick's fingers against his skin, could feel his core heating with the touch, but something seemed wrong.

The sight of Connor bowing his head toward the table, his tears splashing down onto the backs of his hands, his face contorted in an odd form of agony, filled Murphy's mind, and suddenly nothing but his brother mattered anymore. How would Connor react when Murphy told him he was moving out? Would he start crying again, and pretending that he wasn't? Would he continue trying to hide his feelings, as if Murphy wasn't affecting him at all? Murphy didn't think he could bear seeing Connor cry again; in fact he was certain that his heart would rip right down the middle if he put that look back on Connor's face.

"Murphy, what's wrong?" Rick's concerned tone brought Murphy back to the present moment, and that's when he realized he was crying again, the wet drops rolling from the corners of his eyes into his hair and down onto the pillow beneath him.

Murphy shook his head, unable to form words around the lump in his throat, and moved to sit up. Rick immediately shifted so that he was no longer on top of Murphy, but rather beside him on the bed, and put a hand on Murphy's back to steady him.

"Did I do something wrong?" Rick asked, his voice holding nothing but worry for his love, and he gently wiped the tears from Murphy's face with his thumb.

Murphy shook his head no again, finally finding his voice. "Yer fine, Rick. M'not sure what came over me. But I think I outta go an' get my stuff, calm m'self down a little. We can pick up again when I come back." And just to prove to Rick that he was alright, Murphy placed a loving kiss on the sheriff's lips before pulling away and getting off the bed.

Rick nodded, still looking at Murphy with concern and confusion, but made no move to stop him. Murphy quietly slipped out of the apartment, dashing down the stairs and onto the street as fast as possible, in case Rick decided to try and catch up with him.

Murphy walked home, his thoughts clouded and upsetting, and prayed that he wouldn't run into anyone he knew on the way there.


	8. One Last Kiss Goodbye

**Chapter 8: One Last Kiss Goodbye**

Murphy came home to see Connor slumped into the back of the couch, one of the controllers for the old GameCube Murphy had bought from a friend held loosely in his hands. He was playing Mario Kart Double Dash, and was failing miserably from the looks of it. He was in 7th place currently, but that was only because he'd managed to knock out one of his opponents with a red turtle shell and surpass them. Connor didn't seem to mind, though; in fact he didn't even seem to notice what was going on around him, almost as if he were on drugs, or in some form of shock.

"Conn? You a'right?" Murphy walked over tentatively, looking back and forth between Connor's face and the TV screen.

"Mm-hmm," Connor hummed his response, not bothering to look at Murphy.

"Could ye pause the game fer a moment? I need to talk to ye 'bout somethin'." Murphy took a seat on the couch beside his twin, angling his body so that he was almost completely facing Connor, hoping that Connor would open up the same way.

Connor's thumb pressed the start button, and then he laid the controller aside on the arm of the sofa, turning only his face to sullenly gaze at Murphy.

Murphy gulped roughly, no longer sure how to proceed with things; neither brother was very adept at speaking their feelings, especially if their feelings were accompanied by bad news.

"Out with it then, Murph." Connor spoke with no emotion, but his voice was soft and gentle, cautiously waiting for Murphy to say whatever it was he needed to.

"M'movin' out, Connor." Murphy managed to blurt out, instantly clasping his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down on it as hard as he could to keep from saying anything else, lest he dig himself into an even deeper hole.

Murphy couldn't quite place all the emotions that passed over his brother's face. A few were obvious, like anger, and confusion. But then the agony took hold of his features for good, pulling his supple mouth into a tortured grimace, knitting his eyebrows together and slightly upward as if he was about to cry, and creasing his forehead with too many lines that never should have been there. Worst of all, though, were Connor's eyes. The sky blue color darkened considerably under the weight of this new information, the tears welling up inside of them giving them a glossy sheen. The pain was there in those eyes, reflecting back onto Murphy, and Murphy could have broken down right then to see how horribly he was hurting his brother.

"Where are ye gonna go, Murph?" Connor was trying so hard to keep the waver out of his voice, but Murphy could still hear it in every syllable he uttered, could see it in the way his bottom lip trembled.

"Gonna move in with Rick; figured you'd want me outta yer hair for a while." Murphy could no longer meet Connor's eyes, and his dropped his gaze to Connor's hands, clenched into fists on the cushions; somehow seeing those knuckles turning white as Connor gripped the fabric was more painful than looking in his eyes.

"S'that's it then, Murph? Just gonna pack up yer shit an' walk out the door an' not come back in fer who knows how fuckin' long? How stupid of me to think ye still cared about me, to think ye might still love me the way I hoped fer. I think that maybe if ye'd just said that ye didn't want to carry on with me no more that this'd be easier to take." Connor's voice hitched slightly with the sobs that he was still holding inside, but the tears were rolling freely down his cheeks now, rushing from his eyes in anguished torrents.

"S'not like that, Conn. I still love ye. I just figured ye needed some time apart from me, 'specially after what happened this morning." Murphy's eyes welled up with his own tears for the third time that morning. He reached for Connor's hand, managing to just brush the back of it with his fingertips, but Connor pulled away and abruptly rose from the couch.

"How foolish of ye, Murph, to think that the Earth can survive without its Sun." Connor whispered as he made his way over to Murphy's bed. He picked up one of the duffel bags that Murphy kept by his mattress and unzipped it, laying it open on the bed so that he could start piling Murphy's things into it.

"I can pack my own things." Murphy half-heartedly complained, simply because he wanted Connor to stop trying to get him out of there.

But what had Connor meant when he said that line about the Earth and the Sun? Was he referring to Murphy or to himself? Most likely he was referring to Murphy, trying to make him feel bad so that he would hurt, too. Of course, that's how he meant it; after all, he was packing Murphy's things now, wasn't he? He had probably meant that Murphy wouldn't be able to live without Connor, and just to show that he was serious had begun to shove all of Murphy's shit into duffel bags.

But Murphy was wrong. Connor had been speaking about himself. Because to Connor Murphy was the sun, the moon, the stars, the planets, the whole fucking galaxy, and Connor didn't think that he could survive without Murphy. But Murphy didn't care about that; Murphy wanted to go be with Rick, and as long as he was happy then maybe Connor could continue on.

"Just want ye to be happy, Murph. S'all I ever wanted, ever since we were little. So if Rick makes ye happy then go an' be with Rick." Connor zipped the duffel, holding it out to Murphy, the ghost of a smile shining through his tears.

Murphy hesitated a moment before reluctantly grabbing the duffel's strap and slinging it over his shoulder. He stared at Connor for a minute or so, searching his eyes for any kind of sign that maybe he wasn't doing the right thing, that maybe he should stay here with Connor, just like he always had. Connor's eyes held no answers but that deep-running sadness, and it made Murphy's heart ache to see his brother in such despair.

Murphy turned to leave, his steps slow, giving Connor every chance to say the magic words.

"Murph?" Connor called out softly, and Murphy instantly turned around, his eyes wide with hope.

_This is it. This is the moment when Connor realizes how much I love him, how much he loves me, how much we need each other. This is the moment when Connor fights for me, tells me he wants me here for all eternity. This is the moment when our hearts come together again._

"Can I get one last kiss goodbye?" Connor asked, his lips turning up in a side smirk that didn't touch his eyes.

Murphy's heart fell as his hope was ripped away with Connor's words. Connor wasn't fighting for him; Connor was just giving him a parting gift to remember him by. Nonetheless, Murphy nodded and dropped his duffel by the front door.

It took everything within Murphy not to run to Connor and jump into his arms like he longed to, but somehow he managed to walk back to his twin with dignity and grace, if not just a little bit slower than he usually would have. Connor was patient as Murphy made his way back over, staying still as Murphy got his bearings together.

This was awkward for both of them, even more than their first time, even more than figuring out that they loved each other in more than the normal way. This was a goodbye that neither wanted, but that neither knew how to get away from.

Finally, Murphy leaned forward, eyes closed, and pressed his lips gently against Connor's, meaning the kiss to be only a few seconds, but finding himself unable to part from his twin. Connor seemed to have the same problem, for he didn't pull back either. Instead, Connor slowly wrapped his arms around Murphy's shoulders, just like he had so many times before, and pulled him just that much closer into his embrace. Both of their chests were touching now, and Murphy wanted so badly to throw his arms around his brother and kiss him until hell froze over, but he was too stunned at how far Connor had taken things to do so.

Connor held Murphy tightly, his arms encircling him in that protecting manner he had, the one that always made Murphy feel safe, secure, loved. Connor's lips slowly moved against Murphy's, trying to find a rhythm sweet enough for Murphy to respond to, and finally Murphy managed to kiss him back. Murphy controlled his movements, circling Connor's waist with his arms and holding him in place, but made no move to pull him any closer; he was sure that if he took that step that they would fall onto the bed and never leave again, and that wouldn't help the situation any.

Connor's lips were even more soft and supple than Murphy had remembered, and this kiss was better than any he'd ever had with Rick, even though it was tinged with regret and sorrow. Their mouths moved in tandem, guarded but still giving, and neither one had any urge to stop, not even when they both felt wetness staining their cheeks from the other's eyes. Murphy felt better than he had in weeks, warmer, like his blood was boiling, and he cried because he missed this far more than he should have. Connor felt whole again, like the missing part of him had finally been put back, but he cried because he knew it would be torn away again in just a moment.

And so Connor was the one to finally break the kiss, because it would be easier to deal with that way. He released his hold on Murphy and stepped back from his brother, breaking their contact completely. A slightly more genuine smile curved his lips, and Murphy knew that Connor was content to let that be the end of things.

Murphy was wide eyed, staring at his twin, his mouth pressed into a hard line of mixed emotion, his cheeks flaming with everything he longed to do and could not say. That kiss was the last he would receive from Connor, and he was genuinely sad to know that.

"Goodbye, Murph. Go an' be happy. I'll be right here waitin' for ye if Rick ever stops making ye happy." Connor turned away then, walking toward the window to go out onto the fire escape; truth be told he just didn't want Murphy to see him breakdown.

Murphy picked up his duffel and made his way to his new home.


	9. Medicate

**Chapter 9: Medicate**

Murphy trekked his way back to Rick's apartment, hesitating for a moment outside the door. This was his last chance to go back to Connor and work things out, because once he crossed that threshold he'd belong to someone else, and there would be no turning back. The choice should have been easy, but it wasn't. When he really sat back to ponder over each decision both looked glum, and his thoughts were never clear.

Finally he raised his arm, bringing his knuckles down onto the splintering wood of Rick's front door. Within a few seconds the door was swinging haphazardly into the entrance and Rick was standing there with a grin lighting his face. He quickly stepped aside to let Murphy through, his eyes darting to the single duffel back on Murphy's shoulder.

"That your only bag?" Rick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Never had much t'my name to begin with." Murphy smirked, thinking the gesture was expected of him, as he walked past the sheriff.

The whole apartment filled Murphy's eyes in a different light; this was where he would be living now, where he would be making his home, and he had to know every crevice and angle like the back of his hand. He took in the walls of the front room, which were painted a tame shade of maroon, noticing that nothing hung on them, save for the flat-screen wall-mounted television. The couch opposite the TV was black, upholstered in smooth leather, and could easily fit five people; it might even be a comfortable place to sleep, if Murphy had the urge to take a cat nap now and again. A glass coffee table stood in front of the sofa, it's face cluttered with random bits of paperwork and the two mugs they'd drank from that morning. Next to the window was a portable shelving unit, running half the length of the wall, that housed DVDs, CDs, and the occasional book or two. The only thing off about this room was the fan situated in the center of the ceiling, rotating lazily on its slowest setting, and the off-white carpet that ran throughout the apartment.

Murphy supposed the place was nice enough, or at least the couch and TV were, since he and Connor hadn't had anything that classy since moving to America; other than that, though, it was never what he would have called home. The red color of the walls reminded him too much of blood; not of the blood he and Connor had spilled on God's missions, but rather of the blood that poured from Connor's open and untreated wounds whenever one of those demons had managed to hit him. The carpet clashed with those walls, though the carpet clashed with everything if he were being honest. Glass coffee tables never seemed sturdy enough to him, especially since he enjoyed putting his feet on them quite often. And he never would have had that tacky shelving unit just sitting there, facing the room like that; if he wanted to display his movies he's just pop one into the damn DVD player and let the film roll.

But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially since he was the one who had decided this new life for himself in the first place.

"Where can I put m'things?" Murphy asked, his voice low, and turned to look at Rick.

"I cleared a place for you in the closet; figured you'd want some space for yourself." Rick led Murphy into the bedroom and pushed one of the sliding doors on the closet aside, revealing a small empty space just for Murphy.

Rick squeezed Murphy's shoulder gently before he left the room, giving Murphy plenty of time to unpack and adjust to this new lifestyle.

Murphy's things were mostly plain and bland. Gray and black t-shirts, his black turtleneck that he wore on hits with Connor, and on his first date with Rick, and a few pairs of blue jeans, socks, and boxers. As he got to the bottom of the bag he saw a garment he didn't recognize, one he certainly hadn't worn before. He pulled it out and examined it; it was a light blue shirt with a collar that buttoned down the front and at the cuffs. Connor had bought it for him for Christmas once upon a time because he said that it went perfectly with Murphy's eyes, but not once had Murphy ever worn it; he had simply dropped it on the floor, shoved it under his bed, or to the side with everything else he owned, and forgotten about it. Clearly, though, Connor never had forgotten about this long-lost shirt, and he was probably hurt by the fact that Murphy had cared so little for it. Murphy wished he'd worn it at least once, just to appease his brother.

Tears came to his eyes yet again, and he used one of the shirt sleeves to wipe them away. _There, Connor, at least now I've used it fer somethin'. M'sorry I didn't before. _And then he hung it up with the rest of his things.

"Don't know where I went wrong, Doc." Connor mumbled around the lip of his beer bottle. He was currently parked on a stool at McGinty's, drinking himself into a stupor. No one else was there, and Doc had decided to close up a few hours early that night, give Connor some much needed alone time, and some much needed alcohol; maybe he could even help cheer the boy up a bit.

"What're t-t-talkin' about, sonny?" Doc placed his hands on top of the bar, leaning forward slightly to try to catch Connor's eyes with his own.

Connor looked up at him, his eyes glassy with his drunken-ness, but a light still shone in them; whether it was the light of a good buzz or the light of him still being sober enough to think coherently, Doc couldn't tell.

"Murphy moved out, went off t'go an' live with some cop named Rick. Guess he don't love me n'more, eh, Doc?" Connor chuckled humorlessly, his lips curling up into something that was half smirk and half sneer.

It was no big secret that the boys had been more than brothers. Though they never came right out and said anything everyone could just tell by the way they looked at each other, by the way they would unconsciously touch each other on the back or shoulder or waist, by the way they talked to each other. No one judged them for it; most of the people who wandered into Doc's were too drunk to care, anyway, and Doc was too old to be sticking his nose into other's business. Doc shouted "FUCK ASS" twenty times a day, and so he saw no reason to judge anyone else on whether or not they wanted to do the same thing.

"Why'd he d-do that?" Doc poured a shot of whiskey for Connor, and took an extra for himself; this was going to be a long night, and he might as well enjoy a little nip.

"Cause I'm an asshole. 'Cause he deserves someone better'n me." Connor shook his head at himself, downing the shot in one quick swallow and hoping Doc would pour him another.

"Now why wo-would ye go a-and say a th-thing like that, boyo?" Doc decided to oblige Connor, and dumped out another shot for him.

"S'true, that's why. This whole fuckin' thing started all 'cause I couldn't go out an' get 'im a pack of stupid marshmallows. If I'd a' gone and gotten 'em like he'd asked me to none of this'd ever've happened." Connor dropped his head down on one arm, praying like hell that he would manage to keep his tears inside this time.

Doc didn't speak for a while, simply refilled the glasses and pondered the information given him. Connor could be brash, but it's not like Murphy hadn't doled out his fair of asshole-ishness, too; the blame couldn't all be put on Connor here. Maybe Murphy was mad about something else that he wasn't telling Connor, or maybe he just really liked being able to explore this other side of himself with this Rick character, but either way Doc knew that this had never been a choice of whether or not Murphy loved Connor.

So Doc said the only thing he could think to say in this situation. "I h-h-heard somewhere th-that soul mates who co-com-committed suicide t-together were then reborn as twins so that they'd never h-have to be a-ap-p-p-art."

Connor's eyes widened slightly as he took another swig of his beer. He didn't really believe in reincarnation, but he could see himself putting stock in that theory. He was already certain that he and Murphy shared the same soul, so why wouldn't they have been lovers in some previous life, too? In a way it was perfect, except now Murphy and he were apart.

"Hey, Doc?"

"What it is, sonny?"

"Would somebody please come over here and-"

"Fuck."

"Me up the-"

"Ass."


	10. Fast I'll Fade Away

**Chapter 10: Fast I'll Fade Away**

Connor and Murphy didn't speak at all in the weeks that followed. Connor went to the shift manager at the meat-packing plant and asked to work in a different area from where Murphy did his duties, just so that they wouldn't have to see each other; couldn't have their personal issues interfering with their work, after all, lest one of them get fired for misconduct. Both of them had started carrying burner phones, though neither used them to call the other. Sometimes Connor would look at his contact list, holding only Murphy's number, and think about calling him, just to see if he'd want to accompany him on a hit, but always decided against it.

Connor would leave the plant by himself, occasionally catching a glimpse of Murphy's back as he walked to the subway to take the train to Rick's apartment, and walk the few blocks home, his mind a whirlwind of anguished thoughts. He missed the days when he and Murphy would walk home together, get showered and changed, and then go to Doc's. Now, though, Connor only went to Doc's late at night, around the time the old man would be closing up, because he didn't want to be reminded of the good times they spent at the bar with all their friends. He would talk to Doc, his whispered words filling the empty pub, and Doc would put a hand on his forearm and tell him it would all get better eventually.

The loft seemed colder now that Murphy wasn't there, though that might have just been because winter was moving in and the heat was broken. But seeing Murphy's bed, still unmade just like he'd left it, empty of his twin's soft form cut deep, and Connor couldn't sleep on his side facing towards it.

Conversely, Murphy was no happier with Rick now that he'd left Connor than he had been before the whole ordeal started. Rick would do everything he could to make Murphy smile, but those curvatures of the man's lips never reached his eyes, and Rick could tell that something was wrong. He tried to talk to Murphy about it on a few occasions, but he was never one to pry, and he knew that Murphy was just having a tough time dealing with all the new changes; he figured Murphy would come out of his funk soon enough, that he just needed to take his time with it.

Murphy would get home before Rick most of the time, and so he would cook dinner for the two of them. Cooking somehow helped him wrap his head around the situation, as if taking control over his food could somehow give him the same control over his life. And he was a good cook, too, something that Rick was pleasantly surprised by time and time again.

During his free time when he wasn't making meals, Murphy would flip through the channels on Rick's TV, and if he found nothing good he would put in some mindless DVD. Most of the time he ended up falling asleep on Rick's couch, waking only to the feeling of Rick gently pressing his lips to Murphy's forehead or cheek.

Murphy had been sleeping restlessly since he moved in with Rick, tossing and turning so much at night that he would nearly throw Rick onto the floor. Rick was patient through Murphy's nighttime fits, never showing his annoyance at Murphy, but Murphy was mindful enough to move to the couch on the nights when he knew his rolling would wake his new love. He spent more nights than not curled up on that sofa with a pillow under his head and a spare blanket laid over himself than he did cuddled into Rick.

Some nights, when he couldn't sleep because his thoughts were too loud, Murphy would grab his pack of cigarettes and make his way onto the balcony, shutting the door softly behind him. He would look out over the city, watching the few cars drive by on the street, or the few people still milling about at whatever hour it was, and remember the times he and Connor would go out onto the fire escape, or up onto the roof, and do the same thing. He would gaze up at the stars, remembering all the Fourth of July's Connor had obliged him by watching fireworks with him, all the random planes and helicopters they had seen fly by their loft, and how they would stare into that vast expanse and compare it to their futures, so wide and open and full of possibilities.

Murphy would go through one cigarette just to light up another, and prayed that the dizziness he felt from how much smoke he inhaled would take the tears from his eyes.

Connor strapped his shoulder holsters on and shoved the guns inside of them, covering them up by bundling himself in his trench coat. This was the first hit he would be going on without Murphy by his side, and he felt uncomfortable with that. However, God's mission couldn't be put on hold just because he and Murphy were having a tiff; Connor would have to go it alone, show that he was the Lord's faithful servant.

He glanced over at the clock by his bedside; it was three in the morning, so hopefully the mobster pricks he was targeting would be curled up in bed by the time he burst through their door, which would give him an advantage.

Connor touched at his guns once more, slung the coil of rope around his shoulder, said a prayer for safe passage, and dashed out the door. He decided to walk the two miles to the more secluded homes where his targets were, since calling a cab at this hour could be traced back to him by the police if they stepped up their searching. He barely even noticed the concrete beneath his shoes, his mind drifting to Murphy. Murphy should have been there beside him, teasing him to keep up and smiling like they were just going out for some ice cream; he'd long since gotten over his nervousness from their first job, and now enjoyed going on the hits, as if every new villain he took down was another piece of candy or something. But now it was just Connor, making his rounds for the night, and a weight had settled into the pit of his stomach, pounding through his body with every step he took. Something was going to go wrong tonight, he could feel it. Sure, maybe he was just being paranoid because Murphy wasn't with him, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't be walking out of there that night.

Well, if it was his time to die then he would pass into the Kingdom of Heaven and join the rest of the Saints. He wasn't afraid for himself, really, but rather afraid for Murphy; who would find out, who would tell Murphy that his twin had been ripped away? Murphy would be distraught enough to take his own life; he'd feel guilty for years after, beating himself up for not being there with Connor, and Connor didn't want that for his brother. So for Murphy's sake he would keep his spirits up, do his best to kill every last motherfucker in there and escape with his life intact, just like they always had done together before.

Connor stepped onto the property, grass and dirt under his feet now, and hunched into a crouch. He quickly and silently made his way up to the back door, trying to scope out the best way to enter. He couldn't scale the side of the building up to the second floor, since the outer wall was just smoothed out stucco, so he would have to settle for breaking in the door, guns drawn. He raised his foot and slammed it into the door, just to the side of the handle and lock, smiling with an odd sort of satisfaction as it splintered and swung inward.

Connor found himself in a well-lit kitchen, and slowly tip-toed across the tile flooring to see around a wall. He came face to face with fifteen mobsters holding drinks and cigars, talking and laughing amongst their friends. Apparently they were having a part of some sort, or maybe a meeting with the boss, since those always seemed to run late.

Connor ducked back behind the wall. Luckily no one had noticed him yet, so the element of surprise was still on his side. He could jump around the wall and just start shooting, and hope to hit all of them before they could even pull their guns, but that was unlikely considering he only had his two guns and their meager amount of rounds; if Murphy were here that would have been the simple decision, to just go in there and send everything to hell, but Murphy wasn't there, and for him that probably would not be a wise choice.

So Connor was stuck at an impasse. He couldn't just do what he would have done with Murphy, because Murphy wasn't there. But there was nothing else he could do, either. There was only one way into that party, and that was behind the wall his back was pressed against. Of course, he could always slip right back out through that back door, out into the night, and skip this job altogether. No, he couldn't do that either, not when he needed the money so badly, and God had called upon him.

What he was going to do would mean certain death. What he was going to do was a suicide mission. But he had no choice anymore. So he whispered another prayer, practically begging the Lord not to let this be his time, not before he could at least say goodbye to Murphy, and leaped into the room, shooting everything that moved.

Connor registered five of the men falling to the ground, could see a few of the others reaching for guns, and some of them diving behind furniture. Maybe he could do this all by himself; maybe he would make it out alive, in one piece.

Two more fell to the ground, and all he saw was red. The color splashed over his vision, nearly blurring everything out of focus, the scene before him practically pulsing with the scarlet haze. One of them was standing, and then he was falling again, on top of someone else.

Six left now, if he were counting correctly. He fired the shots, the scent of gunpowder swirling around his head. The taste of blood was heavy on his tongue, and only then did he realize he'd had his teeth clamped down on his lower lip, most likely from his nervousness, but he couldn't find the mental capacity to remove them at that moment, and so the blood continued to swirl over through his mouth and mingle with his saliva.

Two more to go. He shifted his body, turning towards them, his fingers simultaneously squeezing the triggers, and he thought _I did it. I really did it. Now I don't have to worry 'bout Murph n'more, 'n whether 'r not he'll be guilty 'bout m'death. M'gonna get out alive. _

There was a clicking sound resounding in his ears, and he realized with horror that he was out of bullets. There was no time now to reload his guns, and if he tried he'd be shot so full of holes he'd be Swiss cheese in seconds.

Quickly now, what could he do to keep them from shooting at him? His mind scrambled for an answer, but he only managed to blindly fling the rope coil at them. And then he felt pain burning through his left shoulder, another more intense agony embedded into his right hip, and he knew there was no way now that he could kill those other two.

He could choose to stay, let them fill him full of lead and die an honorable death, but he couldn't bear that, couldn't bear not at least being able to tell Murphy what had happened. So he ran, through the kitchen, out the back door, and across the lawn. He ran until he hit the street, and then he kept going, down the sidewalk for two miles. When the pain grew unbearable he wrapped his arm around his torso, pressing his palm against his hip and trying to keep the blood inside his body. When he wanted to give up and just collapse right there on the street for the police to find the next morning he thought of Murphy, of the way Murphy's eyes came alive when he smiled, of how angelic Murphy looked when the sun shined just right on his hair, of how softly he moaned when he was pressed against Connor, skin to skin, and how he whimpered when Connor kissed him afterwards. When he wanted to just let himself fall into eternity, Murphy was what kept him going, and the sad thing was that Murphy would never know that.

Somehow Connor made it home in one piece. He took the elevator simply because he didn't think his body could handle the stairs, and once inside the loft he immediately turned on a burner and set the iron on top of it. He would have to cauterize the wound before he went unconscious, just to keep from bleeding to death through his sleep; he was fairly certain that he had some internal bleeding, but that could be death with at a later time, when he wasn't dripping scarlet down the front of his jeans and onto the floor.

As he peeled off his clothes he was reminded of the bullet lodged in his shoulder, and internally groaned at the fact that he would have to put the iron to that wound, too.

When he was stripped down to just his boxers he pulled his hand away from his hip, his palm slick with the blood still seeping from his flesh. He gripped the iron as tight as he possibly could and took a deep breath before pressing it against the ragged and torn skin. The searing pain from the cauterization was almost enough to pass out, but he had to stay awake for just a little while longer, for Murphy.

After sealing the shoulder wound and bandaging both bullet holes up to the best of his ability, he scrounged up a piece of paper and a barely working pen and wrote a letter for Murphy. This he draped over the arm of the couch, and then he fell into bed, unconscious as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Somewhere across town Murphy jolted awake, his chest ablaze with the feeling that his soul was being torn from his body, ripped away to join the angels in Heaven.


	11. Holding On To Heaven

**Chapter 11: Holding Onto Heaven**

Rick sleepily blinked his eyes open to the sight of Murphy, backlit by the pre-dawn dimness spilling through the window, hastily pulling up his jeans, cursing under his breath as he fumbled with his belt buckle.

Rick had never been a light sleeper, but he certainly wasn't a heavy one either, and Murphy shuffling around trying to pick his clothes up off the floor or from the rack in the closet perked up his attuned sheriff's ears even in his subconscious. With a soft groan he propped himself up on one elbow, yawning as he watched Murphy's silhouette banging around their bedroom.

"Murphy, it's like five in the mornin'. Where're you goin' so early?" Rick appraised his love with a half-lidded stare, waiting for an answer.

Murphy froze in place when he heard Rick's voice; he'd been hoping not to wake the man up while he was trying to get his shit together. He didn't particularly feel like trying to explain that his chest felt like it had been sliced open with a rusty razor blade, and that somehow he knew Connor was in trouble and that he had to rush back to their loft immediately, even though Connor was his "ex", so early in the day. He didn't want to come clean about how he had a connection with Connor that he would never have with Rick, because Connor was his twin, Connor was a part of him, and their bond could never be broken. But if he didn't tell him at least part of the truth Rick would never let him leave.

Murphy swallowed roughly, trying to force the lump in his throat back down, and turned to face the bed where Rick still lay, patient as ever. "Connor's in trouble, an' he needs m'help." There was an urgency in his tone that he hadn't even registered until after the words were already passed his lips, and he hoped that Rick wouldn't ask too many questions.

But Rick was seemingly oblivious to Murphy's obvious discomfort. "Did he contact you to ask you to come help him? What did he say?" Rick's jaw tensed slightly, the only sign that his anger was bubbling very near the surface this time around, save for the hardness of his blue eyes.

"Well, not exactly." Murphy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure of what to say now to properly explain what was going on.

"Then how do you know he's in trouble?"

"S'just somethin' I can feel, Rick. I can't explain it any better'n that." Murphy prayed that would be the end of the conversation, needed that to be the end of the conversation. If Rick asked him anything else he was liable to just blurt out the fact that Connor also happened to be his twin brother, and that's where the trouble would really begin.

"So let me get this straight," Rick's voice was pitched low, just slightly above a whisper, his tone hard and heavy with betrayal. "You woke up at five in the morning with this 'feeling' that something was wrong with Connor, your ex, even though he didn't text or call you asking you for help, and now you want to run down to your old apartment just to check on him?"

When Rick put it into those terms it sounded a lot worse than Murphy wanted to believe it was, but deep down Murphy knew that that was the truth. Murphy couldn't speak then, simply hummed out an affirmation with a nod of his head and waited in the shadowed silence.

And then Rick was off the bed, his hands gripping Murphy's shoulders tightly and squeezing them roughly. Murphy could feel Rick's fingernails digging into his skin, but he didn't dare say anything about it, lest he make Rick even angrier. Rick didn't mean to hurt him, Murphy knew; Rick was just upset about the situation, and he was tired because of how early it was.

"Murphy, can you explain something to me? Can you explain to me why you're so willing to go running off at such an ungodly hour to check on your ex, but you can't even spend more than one night sleeping soundly in bed with me? Can you explain to me why you're so distant, why you never want to be kissed or touched or held, why you're always blowing off my affections when before you were so voracious? Can you explain to me why I'm not good enough for you?" Rick's eyes were like stone, but there was pain laced in them, and sadness buried deep down in the man's soul.

Rick had loved Murphy so much, had treated Murphy like a prince, had done his best to give Murphy everything under the sun, but Murphy rebuffed him at every turn. Rick couldn't see what he'd done wrong here.

Murphy chewed at his bottom lip for a moment, trying to find an answer that wouldn't tear Rick to pieces. In the end, though, he knew that the truth was the only thing that would set them both free. "It's got nothin' t'do with you, Rick. I'm still in love with Connor."

There, the words were out in the open. Murphy felt Rick release his shoulders and step back, could feel the whoosh of Rick's warm breath blowing over his cheeks as he took in the answer Murphy had given.

Rick felt like he'd just been slapped across the face with a crowbar. For a few minutes he didn't know what to say; he still loved Murphy, still wanted Murphy to be with him, but Murphy's heart was divided. Their relationship would remain broken until he cut Connor out of his life for good, and if he couldn't do that then it would probably be best for them to go their separate ways.

"Look, Murphy, I love you, so I'm willing to give you a choice here. If you want to be with me then you have to cut Connor out of your life for good; do it today. But if you can't do that then I expect your things to be out of my apartment by the time I come home tonight." And with that Rick turned and walked stiffly into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him and effectively closing the conversation.

Another weight had just been added to Murphy's shoulders, but he had no time to think it over now. He had to get to Connor, had to make sure Connor was still breathing, before he could decide anything else.

Murphy burst into the loft, the door still unlocked, his eyes lighting on a piece of paper draped over the arm of the sofa closest to the entryway. The writing was staggered, the pen lines not always clear or precise, as if the person writing the letter had been really drunk while they wrote it. That was just another clear indication that something was horribly wrong, considering Connor's normal handwriting was surprisingly near and concise.

Murphy finally forced himself to read the letter, pushing himself to focus on the words.

_Murph,_

_Don't know how long it'll take ye ta find me. If ye ever find me, that is. Maybe ye won't even be alerted until the police are called in ta investigate an odd smell comin' from the top floor where my dead body's decomposin'. Maybe tha's how you'll find out. But I ain't got time ta dwell on that shit now. _

_Pretty sure m'dyin', Murph. Went on a job, an' I knew it was gonna be bad right from the start. Brushed it off, though I was just bein' paranoid 'cause ya werent' there wit me. S'not the case now, though, is it? Took most of 'em out. I think there was 15, but my mem'ry's a bit hazy righ'now. I 'member clearly there was two of 'em left 'fore I got outta there. Didn't have time ta reload my guns, so I threw my stupid fuckin' rope at 'em, but they got me pretty good an'way. The shot to my left shoulder don't seem s'bad. Mighta gone through cleanly, but I don' know. S'the one's stuck in my right hip tha's gonna kill me. Damn bullet's lodged in there, an' I'm pretty sure there's some internal bleedin'. Was leakin' like a faucet all the way here. _

_I tried ta cauterize the wounds with that damn iron of Rocco's we still got here fer some reason, but s'not like I can go an' burn up all my arteries and shit. I figure it'll take a few days fer me to die, but I also figure I'll be sleepin' most a' that time, 'r at least too weak to do an'thing. Guess it's pretty fitting for me to go out this way. _

_But none a' that matters right now. When you find me, or when the police find me, or whatever, you'll see this last letter to ye. _

_I want ye to know that I love ye, Murph, more than me own life. You're my sunshine, my starry night, my reason fer carryin' on as long as I 'ave. I'm sorry I didn't tell ye more often just how much ye meant to me. I 'spose Rick does that fer ye, doesn't he? Well, good, 'cause that's what ye deserve: someone to tell ye just how special ya are all the time. I hope you two 'r happy together, 'cause all I ever wanted was for ye to be happy. M'sorry I couldn't be the one ta keep the smile on yer face, but as long as it's there somehow, someway, I don't care no more who put it there. _

_Yer my angel, Murphy. You were the one got me this far, back to the loft, to die comfortably in me own bed, dreamin' about ye. And I know at times I was selfish an' stupid, an' m'sorry I didn't get ye those damn marshmallows that day, 'cause maybe then none of this would've happened at all, an' if I could change the past I would have gone and done that for ye, and done a hundred other things, too. But know that I never would'a changed you bein' my twin. Yer the other half'a my soul, Murph, the other half'a my heart. _

_M'fadin' pretty fast now, n' I don't wanna pass out 'fore I can finish this, so m'gonna wrap it up now. _

_When I was holdin' ye, Murphy, I was holdin' on to Heaven. I love ye. Stay strong, an' don't blame yerself fer any a' this; all my fault anyway. _

_Goodbye, my dear brother. _

_~Connor_

The letter shook in Murphy's fingers, the words blurring together through the haze of his tears. Everything he'd ever wanted Connor to say, everything he'd ever _needed _Connor to say, had finally been said, but at this price Murphy didn't want any of it. He would take back every moment with Rick, would take back every harsh word he said and every time he didn't just make it clear what he wanted from Connor, just to have his twin back to normal, unwounded and alive. Funny, how it took a couple of gunshots to bring Murphy back to his senses, and show him the path he was supposed to take.

Murphy let the note slip from his fingers and float to the floor, stepping on it with his boot as he made his way to Connor's bedside. Connor wasn't in his own bed, but rather in Murphy's, the blankets curled around his still form as he rested on his left side. He looked paler than normal, his rich tan a faded caramel color now. His lips were still the same full, perfectly kissable lips that Murphy had always craved, and his face was smoothed out, wrinkle and worry free.

Murphy's tears splashed onto his brother's face as he knelt beside Connor, running his thumb gently over those soft lips, and for just a second he thought he had seen Connor's eyelashes flutter slightly, as if he were about to attempt to open his eyes.

A spark of hope flared up in Murphy's heart, and when he pressed his thumb to Connor's lips the next time it was with a bit more pressure, praying that what he had seen wasn't just a trick of his imagination.

Connor's eyes opened slowly, stopping at about the half-mast point, and Murphy nearly screamed with the joy he felt inside. His twin was still alive.

"Connor? Can you hear me?" Murphy barely managed to squeak out, his crying making it hard to talk.

Connor blinked for a moment, his eyes not entirely focused, and then those blue irises came to rest on Murphy's face, and Connor smiled; a slight curvature of the lips, hardly even noticeable unless you were as close as Murphy was, but it was a smile all the same.

"Looks like I made it to Heaven after all. Always knew ye were my angel, Murphy. But, Murph, my side hurts like hell. Can ye make the pain go away, Murph?" Connor mumbled, a look of agony passing over his features.

Murphy's stomach dropped at the same time his heart lurched forward, nearly bursting from his chest. Connor was alive, but he was in pain; he was awake, but he was delusional, thinking he really had died.

Murphy cupped Connor's cheek in his palm, relishing the feeling of Connor leaning into his touch as much as he could. "Connor, you're not dead, I promise ye. I knew somethin' was wrong with ye, so I rushed over here quick as I could. Now we gotta get ye to a hospital so they can fix ye up and take the pain away. Alright?"

Connor blinked in confusion, his eyes widening just that much more. "Murphy? M'not really dead? But I got shot, an' you're here." And then Connor was crying softly, his sobs turned into whimpers due to the pain it caused his hip, his hot tears rolling over Murphy's hands.

"Yer my twin brother, Connor; I could feel that somethin' was wrong with ye. Now we really gotta get ye to the hospital." Murphy bit his lip, trying to figure out a way to transport Connor to a hospital. They couldn't afford to call an ambulance, and that could bring the cops right to their doorstep.

"Murphy?" Connor's whisper cut off Murphy's train of thought, snapping him back to the present moment.

"Yes, Connor?"

"Would ye please kiss me? Like ye used to when I was sick or hurt, when ye still loved me?"

Murphy couldn't speak, so he simply nodded. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Connor's, taking care to not put too much pressure or force into the kiss to make sure that Connor didn't get worked up and hurt himself. Connor's mouth tried to move in sync with Murphy's, but the pain had made him too weak, and soon enough his lips went slack against his brother's.

Murphy pulled back then, locking eyes with Connor once more. "Ye listen to me now, Connor: I never stopped loving ye. I thought you were the one who didn't want me around no more. We both did stupid things we regret, we both made mistakes, but none of that matters, okay? M'here an' I'm not leavin' ye ever again. Now yer gonna get through this, an' then it's gonna be just you an' me again, like it always was."

That tiny smile found its way back onto Connor's face again, and Murphy couldn't help but smile back at him.

The other half of Connor's soul was back in place beside him now, and he wasn't leaving anymore. Murphy's heart was residing inside of Connor, still alive and beating, and he would make sure it stayed that way. They were both complete again, holding their angels in their hands, holding on to Heaven.


	12. When The Heartache Ends

**Chapter 12: When The Heartache Ends**

Murphy helped Connor roll onto his back, and then looked around their apartment for anything he could use as a makeshift wheelchair for his brother. He was fairly certain that Connor was right about the internal bleeding, not to mention his wounds were probably already infected from exposure and being burned; if Connor didn't get to a hospital pretty soon he really would die, and Murphy would move Heaven and Earth to keep that from happening.

After analyzing everything they owned in the loft at least five times Murphy realized that he'd have no choice but to call Rick and ask him for help. He was loathe to the idea, especially because then he really would have to come clean about everything, but he would worry about that at a later time when Connor was safe and healing.

Murphy came to sit beside Connor, cradling his twin's head gently in his lap and stroking his smooth, pale cheek, and dialed Rick's number. He carded his fingers through Connor's hair as a way to take his mind off the immediate situation, and Connor smiled softly at his brother's touch.

"Yes, Murphy?" Rick's voice was flat on the other end of the phone, the sheriff trying hard to control his emotions.

"Need y'help, Rick. Connor's hurt pretty badly. I can explain everything when y'get here, but please come quickly." Murphy's voice was pleading, a quiver in it that hadn't been present before, and Rick realized that he was truly worried about what had happened to Connor.

"Alright, I'm on my way, but you better have an explanation ready for me, Murphy, and I'm not kidding. I deserve to know the truth." Rick hung up the phone and shoved it back into the pocket of his work slacks. The only reason he had agreed to go at all was because Murphy had sounded so seriously distraught over the phone, but after all was said and done he was about ready to just call it quits and move back to Georgia; there was less drama there.

"What do you need me to do?" Rick asked as soon as Murphy opened the door for him, brushing past the man and into the shabby apartment in one brisk movement.

Rick's eyes lit on Connor's still form on the bed, took in the ragged rise and fall of his chest and the poorly placed bandages covering his hip and shoulder, and finally met his half-closed blue eyes. There was something in Connor's face that looked oddly familiar, as if they'd passed by each other once or twice on the street and Rick had happened to take notice of him, but the sheriff couldn't quite place where that familiarity lay.

"S'this is the famous Rick, then?" Connor's voice was barely above a whisper, but he was smirking slightly, teasing Murphy it seemed. The Irish brogue was a bit thicker than Murphy's, and suddenly Rick realized why Connor seemed so familiar.

Rick didn't want to believe it was true, that Connor was related to Murphy, but they had the same accent, the same tattoos on their necks and forearms and hands, even the same blue eyes; Rick was disgusted, that much was clear, but there were other emotions under the surface that he couldn't quite identify, not that he cared much what they were in the first place.

But it all made sense now, why Murphy just couldn't let Connor go, why he had been so depressed in the past few weeks, why he had receded into himself so far that Rick had no hope of coaxing him out. Connor was the drug that Murphy could never quit, because the taboo the man provided was so addicting and forbidden.

"Uh, yeah, this is Rick." Murphy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he bit his lip, his eyes darting between the two men opposite him. "Rick, this is Connor."

Rick nodded to Connor as politely as he could manage to, his eyes hard as stone, his jaw set. "Start explaining, Murphy."

Murphy didn't know where exactly to start; after all, he hadn't prepared a lie beforehand, and it's not like he could tell a cop that Connor was one half of the Saints duo they made up and he'd been shot 0n a job.

Luckily for them both, though, Connor took over the conversation from there. "S'my own fault, really. Was cleanin' one of m'handguns and the damn thing went off, got me right in the shoulder. I dropped it on the table as I stood up t'bandage m'self up, and it went off again, catchin' me in the hip. Should'a been more careful, considerin' how old the damn thing is." Connor let out a shaky laugh which quickly turned into a cough, and Murphy rushed to his side, lightly pounding on his back to help him get it all out.

Rick raised one eyebrow, clearly not believing the story, but moved over to Connor's bedside, regardless. "How can I help?"

"Just need ye to help me carry him t'the elevator, and into th'car so we can get him to the hospital." Murphy looked up at Rick, his eyes pleading with the man not to ask any more questions until later.

Rick nodded to Murphy, then cradled Connor's legs in his arms, trying to support the bottom half of his body so as not to jar his injuries too badly. Murphy placed one hand under Connor's lower back, holding his hips as steady as possible, and wrapped the other around his chest. Connor ground his teeth together, trying not to scream from the pain of being moved, sweat beading his hairline.

In that awkward way Rick and Murphy managed to get Connor into the backseat of Rick's car and into the nearest hospital, where Connor was placed into emergency surgery, and would be separated from Murphy for several hours.

Rick and Murphy made their way to the cafeteria, where they both poured themselves a bland cup of coffee, and then sat across from each other at a small table next to a window at the back of the room.

Murphy could tell that Rick had a lot on his mind, and he figured it would be best to stay silent until Rick chose a place to start talking. In the end, his patience was rewarded.

"Connor's not really your ex, is he?" Rick kept his eyes averted from Murphy's, staring into dark liquid filling his Styrofoam cup.

"Not technically, no." Murphy gazed out the window as he answered, his voice quiet.

Rick pondered that for a moment, not wanting to continue with his questions, but needing to know the answers. "Who is he to you, then?"

Murphy hesitated. He knew that he had to tell Rick the truth now, had to just put everything out on the table, but part of him wanted to just continue with the lies and evasion still. Rick would hate him forever if he knew how he and Connor had been carrying on. But when he turned his attention back to the room around him Rick was looking at him, trying desperately to meet his eyes, and Rick's eyes were soft and gentle, and so Murphy thought that maybe Rick wouldn't hate him too much, after all.

"Connor's my twin brother. I know what we been doin's wrong, at least in society's eyes, but s'not somethin' we can just give up either. Connor… he holds the other half a' my heart n' soul, as cliché as that sounds. I was born with him, grew up with him, and I see m'self in him everyday; I seem him in me, too. And that makes me think that maybe God wanted us t'be together this way, y'know? Maybe God put us together fer a reason." Murphy was smiling by the time he finished speaking, his lips curving up the way Rick had always adored, and Rick couldn't be mad at him when he looked like that.

"Y'can hate me, if y'want. I'm sorry I didn't tell ye sooner, Rick. I just thought maybe if I distanced m'self from Conn that we'd both come t'our senses 'bout what we been doin'. Thought that maybe someone new could distract me from him, could make me see that Conn's not the only one in the world. But all it did was make me realize that Connor _is _the only one in the world, 'r at least in my world. M'sorry it hadda be you, Rick. M'sorry I hurt you like that."

Rick stayed silent for several minutes, sorting through the emotions flooding through him. On the one hand he could never imagine doing something like that with his own brother, if he'd had a brother, that is, and he truly was repulsed by such a thing. But on the other hand he could understand what Murphy was saying about being in love with Connor. Some part of Rick was still in love with Daryl, if he were being honest, and it had been months since he'd seen the man.

Murphy and Connor's love was perverted, if you bothered to remember the fact that they were siblings, twins even, but at the same time it was pure and beautiful, and if they were happy then who was Rick to judge them? He just wished he didn't have to be the one who had gotten caught in the middle of them.

"Nothing I can say will make you come back to me, right? You're Connor's forever?" Rick met Murphy's eyes once more, a side smirk on his face that didn't touch his eyes.

Murphy looked away again, back out the window. Somehow seeing the sun shining beyond the hospital's small patches of grass gave him the strength to answer Rick's questions with honesty and clarity.

"M'Connor's forever, Rick. S'not that I don't like ye, but he's half of who I am. I truly am sorry, Rick, for everything." Murphy laid his hand on top of Rick's, expecting him to pull away.

Rick didn't pull away, though; he just let Murphy touch him. And then he turned his hand over and twined their fingers together, a last beacon of hope for him to hold onto, though he knew it was just a mirage.

"I won't waste my breath, then. If you'd said anything else I might have thought differently, might have tried to get you back to me, but the way I see it now fighting for you would just be a lost cause. And I don't mean that offensively, I just mean that I know you'd say no anyway, and I would only be hurting myself."

Murphy bit his lip, squeezing Rick's fingers back, wishing he could say something that would take the man's pain away.

But Rick was through talking. He slid his fingers from Murphy's grasp and rose from the table, looking down at Murphy with a sad smile and pain-laced eyes. "Goodbye, Murphy." And then he turned from where Murphy still sat, frozen, and began to make his way from the room.

"Rick?" Murphy asked, rising as if he would go and chase the man down before he could walk out of his life for good.

"Yes, Murphy?" Rick turned back around, his eyebrow raised in questioning.

"Will I ever see you again?" It was a cliché of a line, that was for sure, but Murphy couldn't think of anything else to say at that moment.

"Probably not. Boston's a bit too fast-paced for me. I think I'll move back to Georgia, see how Daryl's doing."

And then he turned away from Murphy for the last time, and strolled through the cafeteria doors right out of Murphy's life.

Connor blinked his eyes open, his vision blurred from the morphine he was on. His head felt heavy, like it was filled with quicksand or water, and it made him dizzy to move in any direction.

"Murphy?" The word escaped his lips, ghosting along on his breath, and he was sure that no one had heard him.

A hand moved into Connor's own, warm and inviting, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze, and he knew at once that Murphy had heard him just fine.

Murphy's face swam into view above him, Murphy's eyes the same color as the ocean he had always loved as a child, and he couldn't help but smile as widely as his face would allow.

"M'right here, Connor. How 'r you feeling?" Murphy's voice held a mixture of worry and relief, and it made Connor somewhat sad to hear that, though he couldn't exactly tell why.

"Feel fine right now, considerin' they've got me on some damn good pain killers. A lil' dizzy, though, like m'heads all filled up with mud n' m'tryin'a slosh 'round in it." Connor's words were slightly slurred, but he hoped that Murphy would be able to understand him.

"As long as you're not in any pain, Conn; tha's all I care 'bout right now." Murphy smiled, bright as the sun streaming through the window, and Connor's eyes welled up with tears at how beautiful his twin looked. He'd waited so long to see that gorgeous smile again, had even dreamed about it on occasion, and now he was being graced with it once more; if he didn't know better he'd think he had died on the operating table and landed in Heaven.

"Was just havin' a dream 'bout ye, Murph." Connor chuckled softly as his morphine dream came back into focus in his mind.

"Oh? What was the dream about?"

"Member th'time we went t'the sushi place by Doc's, n' ye wanted t'be adventurous, so ye tried fish eggs fer th'first time? N' when they brought ye the lil' platter with th'four rolls on it yer eyes went wide, 'cause it was just a lil' circle a' seaweed filled t'the brim with those eggs. But ye were determined ta eat those damn things, so ye picked one of 'em up with yer fingers, 'cause ye couldn't use chopsticks yet, and popped the whole damn thing right in yer mouth. Ye almost threw up right there, 'member, 'cause the taste was so bad. But when the guy came over t'ask us if ever'thin' was a'right you said it was just fine. And then ye ate every single one a' those fish egg rolls, just 'cause ye wanted to look like an impressive lil' sushi eater. N' then when we got home ye walked right over t'the toilet and threw all of it up. Yer hair was longer then, I 'member, so I hadda hold it back for ye." Connor laughed again, a little harder this time, and Murphy couldn't help but join along with him.

"Yeah, I remember that, Conn. And ye got mad at me fer continuin' to eat 'em, 'cause ye were worried I'd get food poisonin' or something, but next day I was back t'my old self." Murphy grinned, giving Connor's hand another squeeze. He reached up and brushed Connor's hair back from his forehead a few times with his free hand, letting his fingers linger amongst the soft strands.

"Are ye gonna leave me again, Murph? Go back t'Rick after I make a full recov'ry?" Connor looked up at Murphy, his eyes almost pleading.

Murphy shook his head and leaned forward, placing a kiss on Connor's forehead. "M'never leavin' ye again, Conn, I promise. Yer my always and forever, an' that's never gonna change."

And then Connor was crying silently, the tears streaking down his cheeks in twin waterfalls. "Thank ye, Murphy. Ye have no idea how much it means to me t'hear ye say that. Don't know how I woulda survived without ye. An' I love ye so much, Murph. I'll prove it t'ye soon, I promise."

Murphy silenced Connor with a kiss, pressing his lips gently against the injured man's. "Shh, Connor. Ye don't need t'prove anythin' to me. I know ye love me; I love ye, too, so much."

Then Murphy did something he hadn't done in a long time: he started to sing. "I'm lost without you, and there's nothing I can do. If I'm holding onto you then I'll be holding on forever. I've got you now and I'm not letting go of you. Never be together long enough 'cause every moment I'm with you -"

Connor cut him off abruptly, finishing the line for him. "It's like I'm holding onto Heaven."

**The End**

**Author's note: As of now the end begins, my loves. I would like to take this time to thank you all for being such amazing fans of not only this fic, but also of all of the works I've put up here for you to read. Having so many people follow and favorite my stories, and me as an author, means so much to me. Getting your reviews and seeing all your compliments made me grow as a writer, but also gave me a sense of pride and accomplishment that I'd never felt in doing anything else. It would appear that writing is my true calling. **

**That brings me to my next point. This is (probably) the last you'll see of me, at least for quite a while. I'm finally ready to begin my first novel, which means giving up my fanfictions, for the most part. If I get a request for a one-shot, or need a break from noveling, then I'll post those up as they come in, but otherwise I won't be writing anymore long fics like this one.**

**It's been fun, kids, it really has. You've all helped prepare me to take this next step in my writing, and I'm so proud to finally be able to take this leap. Just know that you gave me the strength to make the jump, and that you've all helped me and encouraged me more than you realize. **

**I dedicate all of my works posted on this site to each and every one of you. Without all of you backing me they never would have been posted. **

**Special shoutout to Reedus Fan for always giving me such wonderfully detailed reviews, and thank you especially for your compliments. They made writing this story all the more worthwhile. **

**All of my love to all of you. **

**Goodbye, friends. **


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